gloating
Have to gloat. Like havetohavetohaveto. I wish I could rub this in Mr. Lang's face, I really reaaaaaaaalllllllllllllllly do but I can't. Or won't. Take your pick. This semi-pro Jazz band I play with? We had a gig last night. The band leader's daughter and her friend came along to play trombone with us (her friend plays bass trombone, I have never ever heard a sound like that, I mean, like pedal-notes below pedal notes projected beyond belief!!). But she is in the UK's premire trombone quartet. And that is not the best part. She plays with Christian Lindberg (for those of you who do not know, he is the easily every trombonist's idol and the best trombonist, without question, whoever lived). And he's writing a piece for her quartet. EAT THAT!! Fuck yeah, it's so great getting to play next to her, I'd actually rank her the best trombonist I've ever actually heard live. It's so amazing, I played so much better. But I guess she's going to be practicing with us for the summer just cause her dad runs the band. Fucking bite me!! HAHAHAHAHA!!! But in other news, went to Strawberry fair (pathetic one day excuse for Whole Earth/cannibis), bought kewl pursey thingy, jingley anklet and an uber kewl wrap skirt, which, get this, is layered. Yesssss soo ssssexy!! Right, the next three weeks I'm swamped with exams, so forgive me if I don't write. Must exit back to my cloud 9.